Found
by Generic.Epiphany
Summary: Four years after the last of the villain kids escaped the Isle and Harry is still haunted by the memory of Uma's death and his own guilt for surviving. That is, until he gets a call and finds out she's alive. Warnings: Violence and dark themes.
1. Found

Disclaimer: I don't own Descendants.

Warnings: So far, violence and trauma.

* * *

The day Ben sent for the rest of the villain kids from the Isle of the Lost, was the last day anyone ever left alive—and not nearly enough of them had made it off.

War broke out in the streets as the villains tried to make their final break for freedom. The Auradon guards did everything they could to hold them back and give the kids a chance to escape, but they weren't prepared—they hadn't expected it. They also hadn't expected that when the villains realized they weren't going to be able to escape, they started cutting down their own children, bitter fury deciding that if they could not be free, none of them could.

Harry had wanted to leave as soon as they had sights on the barge sent by Auradon. They had papers to leave, Ben had kept his word. But Uma wouldn't leave the rest of the crew behind. He had smiled at that, mad with delight that they would have to fight instead of flee.

The ocean churned as a storm set in, rain spilling out over the docks and waves sloshing up on either side. They were making their way to the barge, fighting their way there as it prepared to set out. Uma yelled at Harry and Gil to keep moving. They'd swim for it if they had to. They were leaving today, they weren't going to be left behind. And Harry believed her because her word had always been law—because she was the only truth he'd ever known, the only family, the only love.

Harry reached the end of the dock, where it dropped down into angry waves and rocks. Jay and Ben leaned over the side of the barge to offer their arm, yelling for him to jump. He put away his sword and grabbed Gil, shoving him toward the arms of the other kids. "Uma!" he called back.

"Here!" she said as he pushed Gil up. Jay and Ben grabbed hold of him, hoisting him up and to safety.

"Come on!" Jay shouted when he returned, practically half over the edge of the ship and grabbing hold of Harry's jacket.

Harry turned away from him. He wouldn't leave before Uma.

She kicked one of the adults off the dock and ran those last steps to him. The dock was crowding, packed with all the villains that wanted to make it off this island by any means.

Harry reached for her, hands on her waist. He was going to turn and lift her up to Jay. He was going to jump to follow and trust that the rest of the kids would make sure they made it over the side of the ship. He was going to—

She was in his arms and then her body lurched forward into his and pain ripped through his chest. His arms curled around her and he stared past her, at Hook himself, his own father, and the sword he'd buried in her back. It had gone all the way through Uma, the point stabbing into Harry's chest. She spasmed against him when the old pirate pulled the sword out and let loose a bellowing laugh. If he couldn't be free, neither could they.

There was screaming on the barge behind him, but he couldn't look. They were never going to make it.

Uma pulled back just enough to look up at him. She spasmed, choking on her own blood but forcing a smile—the saddest smile he'd ever seen. And then she shoved him hard. He fell back, shocked, expecting to hit the waves and be sucked down and rolled against the jagged rocks, but instead his back hit the side of the barge and hands grabbed at his jacket and his arms, lifting him up. He was crying then, watching her sink to her knees on the edge of the dock, blood gushing from her chest and bubbling up from her lips.

The barge was drifting away.

Harry reached for her madly. He heard the worst, hoarse scream before realizing it was him. He was screaming. He was kicking at everyone holding on to him and trying to get back to the dock—back to the water—back to the island and his death just so long as it would be with her.

She watched him until her smile faded and her expression dimmed, gaze losing focus.

Hook stepped up behind her, glaring furiously at his son before finally kicking Uma in the back and shoving her off the dock and into the crashing waves. She didn't come back up. Harry watched until they were so far that the island became a distant shape. He watched until he finally lost consciousness and his grip on the railing.

He woke with a start, four years later, and still haunted by the day he lost her. He'd spent almost a year being bumped back and forth between a hospital and a psyche ward before his friends finally dragged him back into the world.

He sat up in bed, his room dark and rain pattering the windows. The nightmares were usually worse during storms. Harry got up, peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt and tossing it into the hamper on the way to the door. He didn't bother flipping on the lights, padding through his dark apartment to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard, pulled out the rum and uncapped it.

His phone rang on the table, lighting up the room.

Harry frowned at the timing, still holding the cold glass bottle in hand. He walked over to look down at the screen. Ben. He wrinkled his nose but tapped the green button, answering on speakerphone.

"Do you know what time it is?" Harry demanded, as though Ben had woken him up. He took a long drink of the rum.

"I've sent a car to pick you up and bring you to the castle."

"I'm not in Agrabah anymore so you can tell your—" Someone buzzed his loft apartment. Harry put the bottle down and went to the security system near the door. He tapped the screen and a camera view of the Auradon guards appeared, standing at his door, holding an umbrella with the royal seal printed on it. "How did you know I was back?"

"I always know where you are and you can't expect to come into my city without me knowing…" Ben pointed out but didn't sound as smug as usual.

"What's wrong? Is Mal okay?" Harry asked, trying to imagine what would have his friend this unsettled and calling him at four in the morning.

"You need to get in the car."

"Ben—" Harry snapped, nerves prickling up his back when he saw Jay on the camera at his door, buzzing again. Jay was Ben's general now, he didn't run errands. "What the hell?" He almost laughed. "Am I being arrested?"

Ben sighed on the other end of the line. "We found her."

Harry held his breath, vision swaying. He turned and actually looked at his phone glowing on the table, like Ben could see him through it. "Who?"_ Why did he always think of her first? No. Stop it._

"Harry…"

"Who?"

"Uma."

* * *

Harry stared at the tablet in his hands, at the pictures of her. Not the teen he'd known. Not the girl he'd grown up following.

"We have to sedate her," Jay explained, voice tight. They were sitting in the back of the car together, barreling through the city toward the royal infirmary. He had already said it, but he was saying it again now that his friend was staring at the photo of her laid on a hospital bed. She looked thin, cheekbones and collarbones jutting out. He couldn't tell if her eyes were bruised or if it was just exhaustion. The rags of her sweater hung on her with gaping holes flashing more skin, bruises, ribs, and scars he didn't remember from a part of her life he hadn't been there for.

He closed his eyes for a second, remembering her on the dock. Blood had been rolling from that wound, from her lips, and her expression had gone slack before Hook kicked her into the furious ocean. He had been sure she was dead, sure that that was the emptiness he felt in his soul when he woke in Auradon.

A part of him wanted to rejoice, to cry and laugh with relief that she was alive, but the rest of him was choking on the betrayal he had committed. He had left her on that island, all alone, to face the fury of all their worst nightmares.

"We've been sneaking onto the island to scout it out and try to get a handle on it again—Ben's new initiative, you know. The first time Carlos saw her, he thought she was a ghost…"

Harry looked up, tears in his eyes. "The first time?"

Jay nodded stiffly. "Two days ago. But we didn't know if he was mistaken. We were looking for her since and when I found her…"

"What?"

"She pretended not to know me. She ran. I might have lost her if she weren't such a mess. We had to sedate her to get her off the island and the doctors thought it best to keep her under until they could get her patched up."

"How bad is she?" Harry whispered. She was alive. However she was, it was better than dead, wasn't it?

"She'll live," Jay said, as though thinking the same thing.

The car drove through the castle gates and through the grounds, around the main building and to the infirmary around the back. As soon as it pulled up, Harry was out of the car. He and Jay practically jogged to the doors. Panic was rising in his chest at the idea of being this close to her, of seeing her again. They were halfway down the dim hallway when the alarms went off.

They exchanged glances before Jay sprinted down the hall and swung around the corner, Harry on his heels. A trail of wounded guards and shouting nurses led them to toward the nearest exit. She was making a run for it. More guards were coming at the sound of the alarms.

They bolting out the doors and onto the grassy yard, rain pelting down on them.

Harry's heart leaped up into his throat when he spotted her, a shadow darting away.

He forgot Jay and the guards. He ran after her, faster than any of them. She was making her way to the cliffs. _Not again._

"Uma!" Harry screamed.

The figure jerked to a stop and he slowed, walking closer and closer, afraid to spook her. She turned slowly under the rain and he almost sobbed. It really was her. She stared back at him and he froze. For one electric second, he was whole again. The world was right. That moment that had ended his life was changed. He could almost pretend he had never let go of her—that she hadn't been able to shove him away—that he'd somehow pulled her with him and they'd both been saved. She wasn't dead. She wasn't gone. He wasn't alone.

He saw it all reflected in her eyes—the same dream, the same soul-deep relief.

And then it was gone, pushed back by the four years that had separated them. He could feel her pulling away even before she took a step back. He saw the heartache in her eyes and felt his own breaking in his chest. He reached for her and she shook her head a little, an apology. Her chest heaved a little sob. Some of that rain running down her cheeks had been tears.

She was turning away again and he was about to call out, about to run after her. He wouldn't lose her this time. If she made it to the cliffs, if she went over the edge into the dark waters, he would follow this time.

A gunshot made them both flinch and she fell. Harry's vision blurred at the edges, the royal guards rushing in to restrain her now that she was sedated again, moving sluggishly on the grass, trying to crawl away from them.

Harry shot forward, jerking one guard back by the collar and kicking a second. Logic screamed for him to stop—a part of him understanding that they were going to bring her back into the hospital for care—but the rest of him wouldn't listen. He punched a man in the face and finally fell onto his knees in the grass over her, turning her onto her back. She was gulping at air, still trying to cling to consciousness. He touched her cheek, shaking his head at her fear. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I won't leave you," he swore and winced when he did, remembering having said the words before in their youth. He'd failed to keep that promise then, why would she trust it now?

Uma smiled softly up at him, the way she had when she fell to her knees on the dock and he was being pulled to safety—like the story had ended and he was the only one that didn't realize it. Like she wasn't angry at him for living when she'd died—for failing to keep his word. How could she still look at him like that?

She finally passed out, but he wouldn't let anyone else carry her, scooping her up into his arms and standing. She was too light and too cold. He held her against his chest and walked back to the infirmary, nurses and doctors standing in the rain waiting to guide them back in.


	2. Faith

Uma woke in a strange place. It was clean and cold and everything hummed with electricity. Machines sang and the lights near the door buzzed, the rest of the room cast in thin shadows. She tried to sit up, her arms bound in cuffs to the rails of the bed. Her heartbeat quickened, eyes opening wider to take in everything. A thin blanket lay over her from the waist down and she was wearing some thin cotton dress. Who the fuck had changed her clothes? Probably whoever had thought it okay to tie her to a bed.

She felt sick, jaw clenching to press back that sudden panic and bile. Where was she? Who did this? Her mind raced to catch up, still foggy from the drugs. The drugs. The bullets that weren't bullets. Someone had chased her on the Isle and caught her and then she'd woken up here. She swallowed again, trying to force herself to stay calm. This wasn't the Isle. She'd made it outside and it was big and open and she could hear the ocean. She wasn't on the Isle. And then… _"Uma,"_ his voice. Her heart thudded heavily. He'd said her name, the way he used to, the name she never used anymore. She was in Auradon.

She pulled again at her restraints, testing them. Damn it.

Her brow pinched, noticing the tube running into her arm, needles under her skin. What the hell were they doing? Her mind raced, suddenly worried they'd all miscalculated the nature of Auradon. What if it was the scary place some of the old villains talked about?

The door opened and she froze. Her bed wasn't flat, her shoulders and head propped up in an almost sitting position. She clenched her jaw and told herself not to scream, not to kick or fight until someone took these restraints off her. It wouldn't do any good._ Just close your eyes and wait it out. Whatever happens, whatever needles they stick in you, whatever creep walks through that door, just close your eyes and wait it out._

A tall shadow slipped into the room. Uma closed her eyes and tried to even her breathing, her body tense and ready for anything.

"Uma?"

Ready for anything but that voice.

Her air pushed out of her, eyes opening but not looking up, fixed on her lap. _No. No. No._

He swore softly and reached for her.

She flinched, jerking back against the bed, restraints keeping her from getting anywhere and heart pounding against her throat.

* * *

Harry froze for a second, surprised by her reaction, and then—slower this time—he reached out and started undoing the cuff around her left wrist. He had seen Uma flinch plenty of times growing up, but never from him or anyone else their own age.

She stayed breathlessly still while he undid her restraints. "Do you remember how you got here?" Harry asked softly. She was really here. She was really alive. He'd been saying it to himself for the last four hours while she slept. The doctors and nurses had tried to convince him to go to the castle and get some rest—saying her drugs wouldn't ware off for hours and she'd probably sleep longer. He hadn't trusted them and he was grateful for it now.

"Yes," Uma answered quietly, not looking at him. She curled her arms close to her chest when they were released, pressed up in the bed as if to get as far from him as possible.

Harry took a step back. She looked so small. In his memory, she was always larger than life. He grabbed a chair, pulling it over and sitting down so that he wasn't above her anymore. He had always preferred looking up at Uma rather than down. "Uma—" he started.

"Can I go?" she interrupted, voice quiet and raw.

He blinked. "Go where?"

She swallowed, eyes darting around the room, toward the door behind him. He wondered if she'd make a run for it. How would he stop her? He already knew—he'd just press himself up against the door like a human wall. "Am I a prisoner?" she asked again in a different way.

He shook his head quickly. "No. Of course not."

"Then I'd like to leave."

"Okay. I'll talk to the doctors—"

"No. I want to leave now," she said but didn't move from the ball she'd become at the top of the bed.

"Uma—"

"I don't know you and I don't know these doctors. I want to leave and if I'm not being held prisoner…"

Her words drained from his hearing. She didn't know him? "What do you mean? Uma, I thought you were dead. I swear. I wouldn't have left you if I thought—"

"I'm not who you think I am!" her voice finally rose.

The door opened behind him, a guard leaning in. Harry waved him off and the man retreated back out into the hallway.

Her eyes widened, going from the door to him. "So, I am a prisoner," she said. "Why did you steal me?"

His eyes narrowed. Steal her? From where? The Isle? "Did you hit your head?" he snapped. "You're in Auradon. Jay saved you."

She hissed at him, finally looking like herself. She pulled the IV from her arm with barely a flinch and threw it away from herself, sliding off the other side of the bed to stand near the wall. He saw how she shook, but forced her legs to hold her up. That flimsy dress hung on her. "I don't know any Jay. I didn't need saving. I didn't want to come to Auradon. And I don't know you!" she screamed the last words.

Harry shot to his feet, the chair he was in falling back with a clatter. The hospital bed was still between them and he suspected that it was how she managed to shove her chin so high in the air and glare back at him. "Liar!" he yelled back at her. His own mind reeled somewhere at the back of his thoughts, where sanity lived. He had been wildly grateful just to have her alive two seconds ago and now he was furious with her. "I saw your face out there in the rain, Uma! I know you know me. But I don't know why you're pretending you don't." He lost steam and temper as he said it, pain rushing in. "Are you punishing me?"

For a second he thought her steely expression wavered. She was pretending, he was sure. But then she tried to make a run for the door.

He was up and over the bed before she could even round it, boxing her in.

She hissed at him but backed up until she was in the corner and he kept coming. His hands touched the wall on either side of her head and he leaned forward, looking her straight in the eye. "Uma," he breathed her name the way he had in the past, like a prayer and a curse—like his own personal god.

She tried to hide it, but she shuddered, ripping her gaze from his to stare furiously toward the door. "I want to go back to the Isle."

He felt like she'd hit him, but he didn't back away. "Why?"

"Send me back."

"Uma."

"I'm not her." She looked up at him. "I am not yours."

He took a step back, arms falling to his sides and shoulder sagging. He could barely breathe. It was her, he was sure of it. And she remembered him too. He could tell by the way her body leaned toward him before she remembered to pull back. He could tell in the way her gaze worked so hard to go anywhere but him. She was trying not to see him. She was trying not to know him. Maybe she hated him for leaving her behind? Maybe she just didn't want him anymore? But why pretend not to know him? And why ask to return to the Isle?

"I'll give you anything you want," he said quietly. "But I won't send you back."

Suddenly her head tipped to the side and her shoulders pressed down and back and he recognized her stance. The frightened, confused persona fell back to this reality and for a second her eyes landed on him. "You don't really have a say," Uma said just as softly, voice cold as ice, and he saw the scalpel in her hand.

He glanced sideways, the table of supplies beside the bed missing one little object in the lineup. He hadn't even seen her take it and he'd been watching her the whole time. He smiled a crooked grin for her crooked move.

"I figure, if I cut you up—whoever thought it a good idea to kidnap me, will send me back. It is a prison, after all. Where else can I go?"

He nodded slowly, impressed and beyond happy to see some version of her he knew. Now, if only he could get her to admit she remembered him.

She took a step toward him, thumbing the smooth handle of the blade.

He didn't back up and she growled, lifting the knife to slash near his face. He felt the air move but he didn't recoil and she didn't slice near enough to catch him. Oh, she remembered him. "Move!" she ordered. He didn't. She started toward the bed, maybe going to jump over it and bolt for the door but he caught her waist and turned her, pushing her back to the wall. Her eyes flared, pulse quickening and she pressed the scalpel to his throat. For a flicker he saw real panic in her eyes and then it was all pain and frustration. "You don't think I'll do it? You think I'm weak?" she snapped.

Harry shook his head the tiniest bit, the blade slicing at layers of skin, a thin line of blood rolling down his collar. Tears gathered in her eyes as though to mirror it and he knew—_knew_—she remembered him. She was still his Uma. "You were never mine. But I was always yours."

She dropped the makeshift weapon and it clattered on the floor, tears rolling soundlessly down her cheeks. "You should have let me go, Harry."

He sighed in a wave of relief to hear his name on her lips. "I let you go once. If I did it again, it would kill me."

The door opened again but this time it wasn't a guard.

Ben stood just inside, winded and surprised. Someone had gone running to tell him that Uma was awake again. "Is everything okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Harry lied casually. "But I think we're going home."

"Home?" Both Ben and Uma asked at the same time.

Harry turned to look at Ben. They'd been close friends for years. Harry had even been his best-man when he married Mal. "I'll take her back to the loft."

Ben wavered. "Harry, we should probably talk about this. I know the doctors wanted to keep her for observations. And then you could both come and stay at the castle for a while…"

"I'm still wearing my sweats," Harry pointed out bluntly. "I'm going home and she's coming with me."

Ben looked between them, not moving from his place in front of the door.

"I don't belong out there," Uma finally broke the silent standoff, voice tired and carefully void of feeling. "I'm not a child saved from the Isle. I'm grown and I'm bad," she didn't sound apologetic either. "I survived the Isle at it's worst. Just send me back and get it over with."

Both men were stunned, staring at her now.

"You brought me here so he could see that I'm alive, yeah?" she asked Ben, agitated now. "Well, he's seen me. I'm alive. And I've already attacked people. I'm a danger to your kingdom."

Harry waited for Ben to argue, but he didn't. Harry felt gutted, staring at his friend. Ben hesitated to meet his gaze, probably because he knew Harry could read his thoughts when he did. "Fine," Harry said bluntly. "Can I pack a bag, or do I have to go in my sweats?"

Ben looked at Harry pleadingly, but he already knew what would happen, it's why he was wavering on the decision to send her back in the first place, wasn't it? She was alive. Harry would follow her anywhere she went.

Ben groaned. "I'm not sending her back, Harry. But she needs more care than just medical. She needs to see a psychologist."

Uma blinked, not sure what that was but not really into this whole hospital thing. The outfit was weird and kind of pervy and they had already tied her down and stuck needles in her. "You're not sending me back?" she asked, quieter now.

Ben looked at her, surprised and softening. "No. Of course not. Uma, whatever happened to you was the fault of Auradon for leaving you there—which makes it my fault. We will do everything we can to help you now. I promised to bring you to Auradon and make things right. It was a long time ago—but it was a promise. But I don't want you to be tossed into the city. It could be overwhelming."

"Right, because this wasn't," Harry muttered, vaguely gesturing at the hospital room. "Compared to the Isle, my apartment is probably less of a shock than your castle."

Ben found himself stumped, finally sighing and nodding. "Okay. Okay, of course if you don't want to stay here, you don't have to." He turned to Harry quickly. "But you will bring her to a doctor for check ups and to a specialist for therapy?"

Harry nodded. "Done."

"And dinner soon? I would like to catch up properly…"

Harry nodded again, waving the king off. Ben sighed and gave Uma another look, apologetic, before slipping away.

When Harry turned toward Uma, she was staring at him. She looked so tired but so surprised. She swallowed and looked away, trying to hide those emotions drifting close to the surface. "I think they stole my clothes," she said grimly.

Harry looked down at her thin cotton dress. He took off his hoodie and gave it to her. "I'll get you more," he promised while she pulled on the already warmed material and zipped it up.

Her gaze caught on his chest, on the spot under his heart. Her hand lifted, fingers sticking out of the sleeve of his hoodie. For a second he thought she'd touch him, but then her hand froze in the air between them before falling back to her side. He knew the scar she had looked at—the one she'd reached for. It would be a twin to hers, the spot where the sword that cut through her that day on the docks had ended in his chest.

He found her boots and pants in the cupboard but they'd cut away her sweater. She'd have to stay in the hoodie for now.

He took her hand when they were leaving, leading her down the long halls. She'd tensed, almost tugging her hand free of his, but then she didn't—letting him keep it all the way to the car.


	3. Negotiation

She fell asleep in the car, rain pattering against the windows.

It was almost dawn when they reached the apartment building and just when Harry was considering carrying her upstairs, she jolted awake to the stopping vehicle. He sat still, seeing the panic flash across her eyes when she didn't recognize where she was, body tense and head finally snapping in his direction. He waited, practically watching the last day come crashing back over her under her shoulders sagged and her hands balled in the length of her hoodie's sleeves—his hoodie.

He opened the door and stepped out, holding it for her and waiting. She followed, looking up and down the early morning street. She could hear the ocean—smell it even—but she couldn't see it from here.

Harry led her inside but when the elevator doors opened, she wouldn't follow him in. He held the door, staring back at her. "Love?"

Uma took a step back and shook her head once. She spotted the stairs. "I'll walk. What floor?" her voice was tense.

Harry almost laughed, like he'd leave her now. He was still afraid she'd vanish if he took his eyes off her for too long. He left the elevator and took her hand, heading up the stairs instead. He would walk all the flights of stairs in the world if he was walking them with her. "Are you more hungry or more tired?" he asked.

Uma blinked at him.

"Do you want to go to bed first or eat first?" he rephrased. He felt her hand spasm in his hold, like a flinch but when he glanced at her she wore her usual mask of indifference.

"Doesn't matter."

They reached the top and just when they left the stairwell, he heard the pounding of a fist against a door. There was only one door on the top floor so there was no hope it wasn't for him. He almost groaned out loud. He just wanted to get into his apartment with her, make sure she ate and slept and then figure out how the hell he'd not known she was still alive for four years—how she'd survived that night—and how to get back to her.

The woman in the hallway was on glossy pink heels, hair in a high prim ponytail and pencil skirt dress hugging her from. Her expensive jacket flapped when she knocked again on his door, obviously trying to wake him.

When the stairwell door closed, she jumped in surprise, whirling toward them.

Margo blinked at them, first Harry—lingering on his bare torso—and then scowling at the mess of a woman he had with him.

"Geeze, what was the theme of the party, _Escaped Mental Patients_?" She gave a little laugh. "I've been trying to call you."

Harry felt Uma try to pull her hand from his, but he kept it, walking her down the hallway toward the door. "I didn't take my phone with me. It's early. What do you want?"

Margo ran her gaze up and down Uma one more time before landing on Harry. "I was going to drag you out for breakfast, but it looks like you've already been out…"

Harry nodded, fishing his keys from his pocket and opening the door to his loft, he tugged Uma's hand, giving her a little push inside before turning around to block the entrance from his very pushy publicist. He flashed Margo a grin when she stopped short of getting inside. Her hand landed on his chest, more than happy for the contact. "You're sure you don't want to come out with me? We could talk about the next book…" she offered.

* * *

Uma sunk away from the door, into the apartment with high, slanted ceilings and a wall of windows smeared in rain. Everything was modern and minimal but for handfuls of framed photos on one wall and a large bookshelf taking over the other. She looked at the photos. Faces she recognized from another life and faces she didn't. Harry among them.

She looked back toward the door and the woman flirting with him, remembering that this wasn't her Harry anymore. This wasn't her world. And this definitely wasn't her life.

He promised the woman to call her later and she kissed his cheek before leaving. The door closed with a heavy thud and lock that made her jump, eyeing the door a second longer when he turned from it, making sure it looked like something she could open if she had to make a run for it.

"Sorry. Publicist," Harry said.

Uma nodded but had no idea what a publicist was. "Whose place is this?"

"Mine," he said.

She nodded again. "The others?" she asked quietly, almost not asking at all—afraid of the answer.

Harry smiled slowly and came over to her, pointing them out in some of the pictures. "Desiree, Jonas, and Gonzo joined the royal navy. I see them when they come in to port. Bonnie's been pretty flighty but she has a good time. Most recently she's been in a band touring. And Gil is an architect," he laughed a little at that. "Turns out he's good at numbers and design. He got married a couple years ago." He pointed out a picture of Gil and another man.

Uma stared at it, studying it. He looked healthy and happy. She sighed quietly. It had all been worth it, then. They were okay.

"And you?" she asked but didn't look at him, leaning up on her toes to see the picture of Bonnie playing a guitar on a stage. "Married?"

There was a stretch of silence. Uma turned, thinking maybe he'd left. Harry was staring back at her, looking curiously amused. What had she said to make that happen? "No. I write a series of books about a fierce pirate girl sailing the seas and getting into trouble."

She stared back at him, a small smile pulling at one side of her mouth. "No, you don't."

His smile grew and he pointed at the bookshelf on the other wall.

Uma hurried over to it and found the series, the covers with a cartoon girl that looked suspiciously like her. There was at least a dozen of them.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked.

She turned and he was already walking away, toward a kitchen. Uma hesitated, glancing at the front door when he wasn't looking. She could make a run for her. She should. If she was in any other man's house, she would have by now. She tried to remind herself that Harry wasn't her boy anymore. He wasn't a boy at all. But the book in her hand kept her, because she missed the girl she'd been almost as much as she missed the boy Hook.

"I'm not hungry," she lied.

He laughed like he knew it, the sound rich as ever. "_Right._ Eggs and toast, okay? I don't have a lot stocked up. Cookies? I always have cookies…"

She followed him toward the kitchen but paused when she was exactly between him and the door, one to either side, a straight path in both directions. Her heart pounded against her ribs._ Shit. _What was she doing? The book she was holding was shaking. No. Not the book. She was shaking. _Fuck._

* * *

Harry stopped just in the opening of the kitchen to look back at her. She had always been in her own head a lot, deep in her thoughts, but this was something else. She was on the edge of something. What had he done? Was it the books?

"Uma…" he said her name gently, trying to coax her back to him and away from the choice he could already see her teetering toward. He didn't want it to sound like a warning.

She swallowed and put the book down on the table, stuffing her hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Eggs and toast?" she said.

He stared at her, wanting to cringe because he knew what she was doing. She stared back, patient and giving nothing away.

Harry nodded once and turned back to the kitchen, walking to the fridge. As soon as his hand touched the handle, she turned and ran. Her movements were near silent, but he knew she would—he knew because he'd been with her many times when they'd had to escape someone with wits and speed. _Play it cool and wait for your chance,_ she'd told him once when they were little. You had to have a plan if you were smaller on the island. Uma hadn't grown as much as the rest of them had, but Harry had always thought that his muscle and Gil's had been enough to make up for her being small. And she had always been the one with the best plans.

He ran after her. He'd never even pulled the fridge open—knowing she would bolt for the door. She reached it first, throwing back the first lock and even the second before he caught up. She pulled the door open an inch before he slammed it shut again, tears in his eyes.

She screamed and slammed her hands and knees to the door, trying to shove him back, but he didn't move, his body caging her in. She beat her palms to the door, breath heaving out of her. He hooked an arm around her middle and picked her up, turning her away from the door. Uma screamed and clawed at his arm, kicking wildly at the air. He locked the door and started walking her back into the apartment. "Uma, stop," he half-yelled and half-begged.

She knocked her head back against his face and he turned enough so that her skull only caught his cheek, bruising but not knocking him out or breaking his nose. It was enough for her to get out of his hold though. She started toward the hall before jerking back from it like she'd glimpsed something frightening through the open doors. Back pedaling into the living room.

"Uma, please, calm down," he tried, slowly following her, trying to give her space but not enough to do anything neither of them could take back.

"Fuck you! Let me go!" she screamed, grabbing the nearest object, a lamp, and hurling it toward him. Harry ducked and the ceramic base shattered against the wall behind him.

He glanced quickly down the hall she'd balked at, cringing when the only thing he could see was his bed. He knew this fear. He'd had this fear. But it cut him to the core to be the one Uma was afraid of now.

She went to the old windows of the far wall but they wouldn't open. She was crying now, her breaths so ragged he was worried she'd suffocate herself. "Uma, you know me," he said.

She shook her head. "Don't do this to me," she heaved out the words, barely more than a whisper, still turning and looking wildly for a way out—looking anywhere but at him directly.

He saw the moment she realized she couldn't escape. The windows were too high up from the street, even if she could open them. His apartment had little to nothing else she could throw with any hope of hurting him and, really, he knew she didn't want to hurt him—even if she didn't. Otherwise, she would have gone for the kitchen knives.

Her breathing slowly calmed, body still spasming when she pressed back her adrenaline and her nerves and her fear—pushing it all down deep. He could see her trying to decide what to do—go down kicking and screaming? Negotiate? Threaten? Or just go still and wait it out?

Finally, she swallowed hard, fists still balled, but chin pushing up—tears on her cheeks. But she didn't look straight at him still. "What do you want?"

Harry exhaled relief. Negotiation. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she went with the last option. He used the back of his hand to rub the tears off his cheeks. "Nothing. But you have to stay here until—"

"Don't bullshit me," she cut him off, sharp gaze glancing up to him for a split second before looking away stubbornly. "You give me food and then we… _go to bed_. Yeah?"

Harry wanted to sit down, feeling like she'd knocked his legs out from under him, but he couldn't because she might see it as another chance to go for the door and he didn't know if he could deal with having to stop her again. He'd asked if she wanted food before going to bed or after. It shouldn't have meant anything more than exactly what it was, food and sleep. But he wasn't a kid anymore and he hadn't been her crew for four years.

On the Isle, they never took gifts from anyone—because a gift was never a gift, it was a payment of some kind and if you didn't get the terms first, you could be in for a world of pain.

Harry knew these things—or at least, he used to. He was acting like she had been outside the Isle too—like she knew this world and these rules and had forgotten the old just like him.

He turned and walked away quickly, into the kitchen. He came back with the bag of cookies and the bottle of juice from the fridge. She had inched a couple steps toward the coffee table and sofa, maybe thinking of jumping it to try for the door, but she hadn't. He dumped the food on the table in front of her, now between them and stared at her until she met his gaze. "I meant what I said, Uma. I am yours. It's been four years, but I never stopped being yours. So, my house is your house and my food is your food and my strength is your strength." They were words they'd said to each other before, oaths taken and never forgotten.

"I don't expect anything in exchange," he explained. He should have been brutally clear from the start. He shouldn't have expected her to understand how things worked in Auradon. "I'm never going to hurt you or take from you or…" he choked on the words, having to look up and clench his jaw when tears pricked his eyes again. "You know me, Uma. So you know I'll follow you if you run." He sighed, sitting down on the floor beside the table, his back to the sofa. "Please don't make me chase you again tonight."

She stood there for a long minute, seeming to consider it before finally sitting down on the floor, close enough that she could reach out and touch his leg if she wanted. He exhaled a breath of relief straight from his soul.

She grabbed the juice and uncapped it, drinking from the bottle. She downed almost half of it before setting it back on the table. "I don't belong here," she whispered.

"You belong here," he countered.

Uma looked at him, straight at him, not studying him or afraid of him, just looking like she might have four years ago. "How do you know?"

He pushed the bag of cookies toward her. "Because I'm here."


	4. Storms

His dreams were a mess of memories on replay and smashed together. The one of her dying, falling off the dock, pushed up against everything else.

_The first time he met Uma._

**_Uma's death._**

_The first time he called her Captain and the way she'd lit up._

**_The dock. Blood bubbling up from her lips._**

_Swimming in the summer. Almost no one dared. There were monsters in the water, sharks and rocks the least of them. But Uma swam and Harry followed._

**_The sword cutting through her chest and into his, the sound of that wet breath being pushed from her lungs._**

_The first time she touched his hair. The first time she kissed him. Her voice, asking him to hum to her in the dark, so she'd know he was still there._

**_That sad, understanding smile on her bloody mouth before Hook kicked her into the angry sea._**

Harry woke up with a start, his neck sore and the blaring daylight pouring into the living room from the windows. His heart hammered against his chest, his ears ringing with the long ago crashing of waves. "Uma?" he asked even before he looked around the room. She had fallen asleep on the couch last night and he'd stayed in the chair. He'd thought about moving her to the bed for a second before deciding against it.

The room was empty. He stood, panic driving his pulse up. What if he'd dreamed it? What if she was still just that memory—that girl that kept him alive in a nightmare and delivered him to safety? What if she was dead all over again?

He stood, turning. The door was still closed, still bolted. The empty bag of cookies and empty juice bottle were on the table, along with the plates from when he finally had made them eggs and toast.

A door opened and he twisted around, staring down the hall just as Uma crept out of the bathroom, her braids pinned up high and a towel in her hand. A plum of steam followed her out. She'd put his hoodie back on and her pants from the other night.

His relief was so big it almost pushed him to his knees, gushing out of him in a shuddered exhale. She stared back at him, down the short hallway. The door to his bedroom was straight across from her, still open. For a split second she leaned back, like she might retreat into the steam of the bathroom again and lock the door—measuring his intentions with those always calculating eyes.

Harry swallowed hard and took a step back, away from the hall and sat on the arm of the couch. "It's my room, so it's yours. Clean clothes if you want to wear something too big for you until we get you something else," he explained, voice still raw from his panic. "I won't go in there when you're in there, if that makes you feel better."

Her nose wrinkled, like she might argue or take offense at the idea that she was afraid—but they both knew she was. She softened a little. "Are you okay?" she asked. Oh, those eyes of her saw everything.

He smiled, tired and tortured, but nodded. "Better than ever."

She hummed doubtfully but ducked across the hall, from the bathroom into his bedroom.

He almost gawked when she did, having doubted she would ever go in there after her reactions.

He waited, not even trying to slip by to get his own shower until she came back. She hadn't closed the door, so she either trusted him to keep his word or she was testing him. With his Uma, he supposed it was a bit of both.

She wouldn't have gone in at all if she'd thought he'd stalk in after her, not unless she'd nicked a knife. It occurred to him, she might have. He was sitting there, trying to decide if he wanted to check his kitchen for anything missing and sharp—or if he wanted to be surprised, when she returned. She still had his hoodie in hand, the towel gone, and she wore one of his tank tops. It hung on her, the large armholes flashing her black bra and the stretch of her ribs when her arms moved.

She walked toward him, starting to turn toward the kitchen when she stopped, staring. She came closer and Harry tipped his head up to look at her when she stood in front of him. Her hand came up and he held his breath. She thumbed a tear from his cheek. "Bad dream?"

He shuddered out a breath into a laugh. This was something right out of his childhood—a moment replayed—and suddenly he was waiting to wake up or see her horrible death played out for him again. He nodded once. "Something like that."

She left her hand against his cheek for a second longer, the heat from her shower soaking into his skin. Finally, she gave his hair a tug and turned for the kitchen. "Shower. I need clothes and you're out of food."

He smiled at her order and stood with a stretch. "Yes, Captain," he purred before slipping down the hall to the shower.

* * *

Uma was startled when he said it, staring after him for a long minute. Captain. She hadn't been anyone's Captain since they left. She hadn't wanted to be anything without them. She stood in his apartment, the sound of the shower turning on and her clothes smelling like him. How could he still smell like himself? Even here? She found herself staring at the front door. She could walk out. He would come looking, but she could disappear.

He'd promised he was still the same—still hers. He'd promised never to hurt her.

She put her boots on, still straddling the ideas of leaving and of just getting ready to go out with him to get things. Things. Like this was normal or permanent. What was she playing at? She couldn't just go back to who they were. Neither of them were the same and she was happy he wasn't—that he'd grown up someplace bright with people that cared for him. This home felt safe. It smelled like him. Did he pick out the furniture? Did he pick this place?

She tried to imagine herself here with him but as easy as it was to start, it slipped away from her just as fast—becoming someone else here in her place.

She took a step toward the door without thinking and jerked to a stop, as though pulling herself back. She had to leave. She was poison. She'd saved him before. _Just do it again. Just save him again. Think of it that way and you can do it—you can do anything—you can leave._

Last night they'd talked about everything that had happened with the others in Auradon. He told her stories and she laughed, really laughed. They reminisced about their past together. She stole his last triangle of toast and he pretended not to notice until it was too late. It had been easy. Maybe she could have this. Maybe she could do this.

Something buzzed on the table, lighting up. She twisted toward it, leaning over to see the screen of the phone that lit up. A woman's picture—the woman from the door last night. His _publicist_, whatever the hell that was. She was smiling brightly in the picture, red lips and thick lashes, mid-laugh when the picture was taken. Uma couldn't help but imagine her sitting in this apartment and Harry taking that picture while he laughed with her. Yeah. That fit better, didn't it? That image seemed right.

_12 missed call. Margo._

_3 missed calls. Ben._

_18 missed calls. Gil._

The screen went dark again. Uma took a step back and then another. What was she doing here? She felt like an intruder on his life—a ghost that came back to haunt him. He had tears in his eyes this morning. She'd made him cry last night too. Why was she doing this to him? He had a life—a good life. Her back hit the door and she sucked a breath right down to her toes. A part of her brain screamed in panic—the part that so desperately wanted to stay with him—she'd made it to the door.

She was crying when she turned around, his hoodie clutched in one hand. She turned back the deadbolts—the first one painfully slow, almost choking on a sob. She swallowed it back hard, clenching her teeth and willed herself to be strong. She had been a hero for him—she could still be that, just for him. She opened the second lock and turned the knob, throwing open the door and rushing out.

She ran into a solid, large, body and reeled back so hard that she tripped, falling on the entryway floor.

"Shit," a deep voice said before he came at her, dipping down and grabbing hold of her arms before she could kick off the floor and scoot out of reach. He hauled her to her feet like she was nothing, lifting her and keeping her. She couldn't see anything, just bright panic, her breath hitching in her throat. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her again, holding her to his body. She stopped breathing, holding it tight in her chest where she tried to cram all her fear and reeling thoughts. She'd opened the door and a large stranger had come in. He was still holding on to her, his heartbeat pounding against her ribs. _No. No. NO._

She hadn't thought about pulling the knife from her back pocket. She hadn't thought about it at all since she found the little switchblade in Harry's room and nicked it. But her arms were pinned at her sides, her feet off the ground, his body pressed to hers and her mind went blank. Her fingers pulled the knife, thumb flipping out the blade. A bend of her elbow and she'd burry it between his ribs. He'd drop her and she'd jump over him and out the door and she'd run—she'd run and that was all that mattered right now because she wouldn't be here.

A hand caught her wrist before she could move her arm into action and a strangled scream bubbled up in her throat, barely smothered, tears blurring her vision.

* * *

Harry was getting dressed when he heard the door open. He grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on, hurrying out his bedroom door in time to see Gil lifting Uma off the floor and hugging her. She didn't make any sounds—didn't say anything. Gil was talking a mile a minute, holding her against him. Their size difference and his level of emotion made it all look a lot like a parent finding their child after a terrifying day of searching. But Uma wasn't moving.

And then he saw her slip his switchblade from her back pocket. He moved fast, catching her wrist just as her arm was flexing to move. She made a sound that startled both him and Gil, like a choking, screaming sound. "Let go," Harry ordered.

Gil did and Harry kept hold of her wrist in one hand but stepped in front of her, hiding the knife from Gil and blocking Gil from Uma in one smooth motion. His other arm stretched out, hand to Gil's chest to push him back a step. "Wow," he smiled warmly at his friend. "I know you're excited."

"She's alive," Gil said, still smiling, trying to look at her over Harry's shoulder.

Uma curled the fingers of her free hand in the back of Harry's shirt, surprising him, and then she pressed her face between his shoulder blades. He was sure a wave of pride and delight would have swept through him if he weren't so busy trying to keep Gil from realizing what almost happened. He loved Uma so much, it would break his heart to know how badly he'd scared her.

Gil's happiness dwindled into worry. "Is…Is she okay? Did I hurt her?" his panic rose as he spoke.

Harry laughed lightly and shook his head. "Just startled her. It's a lot to take in. We're going to run some errands though, do you want to come with us?"

Gil nodded.

"Okay. Wait outside and we'll be out in a few minutes?"

Gil nodded again, backing out of the apartment, a mix of worry and happiness on his face that Harry could acutely understand. As soon as the door closed, she let go of the knife. It clattered on the floor and she dragged in a ragged breath that came out in a sob. He turned toward her, both of her hands flying to her mouth and her eyes wide and clear again. "That was Gil! I almost… That was Gil!" she whisper-screamed against her fright.

He caught her arms, backing her slowly toward a wall. "He's okay."

She shook her head, dragging in another breath when her back touched the wall, leaning against it, trying to find stability again.

"I swear I didn't know. I just… He's so big and I…"

Harry stroked her arms. "I know, lass, I know. You wouldn't hurt Gil. Not in a million years."

She was struggling to breathe, vision splotchy.

Harry slide one hand along the side of her neck, tipping her chin up. "Breathe, Uma. We're all okay. You're right here. Gil's fine."

She bit into her lip to try to stop from crying.

* * *

"Uma," he breathed her name the way only he ever could, thumb brushing under her bottom lip, until she stopped biting it. "Open your eyes. Look at me, love."

She stomped her foot, trying to will herself under control but finally opened her eyes. His blues were staring back at her. He was so close. Her hand was on his chest. He wasn't holding it there—he hadn't moved it. She had done that. His heart beat under her palm, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths she tried so hard to mimic.

"Uma," he breathed her name again and she shuddered out a breath. She could breathe. Slower and slower, deep breaths. His hand was still against her neck and cheek, thumb stroking at her tears. And those icy blues stared back at her, forever smudged in eyeliner. They were the same eyes. Her Harry. Her first mate. Her first everything.

Soon she was breathing in time with him, no longer shaking or crying or stomping.

Her hand was still on his chest. His hand was still on her cheek. She should push him away, shouldn't she? She should move. But his pulse was under her palm and those blues bearing down on her, holding her in place, making her steady for the first time in years.

Uma had realized early on, that the things that made you strong were the same things that made you weak. He had been her back up, her muscle, her crew. And she had never once regretted that day on the dock when she pushed him to safety. She'd only ever regretted surviving the waves and waking up in that hell alone.

If she had ever doubted it, she knew now that she wouldn't have survived without Harry and Gil. Sure, she'd saved them a dozen times, but they'd saved her too. And even grown and skilled with a blade, the Isle had been a thousand times harder without them.

"Are you with me again?" Harry asked, studying the far away thoughts in her eyes.

She blinked, focusing on him now—here. "Yeah."

He nodded slowly but didn't move until she took her hand back from his chest. He stepped aside, letting her go. "Will you be okay to go out?"

She rubbed the tears from her face and nodded, grabbing up his hoodie from the floor—the one she'd had since yesterday.

Harry picked up the knife she'd dropped and she froze. Would he be angry? She'd stolen it from him. She'd almost used it.

He folded the blade shut and offered it back to her.

Uma blinked at it. Was it a trap? No. This was Harry. She took it and put it back into her back pocket before pulling on the hoodie.

"Were you going to run?" he asked quietly, looking at the door. Gil had been inside. No one had knocked or buzzed.

Uma bunched the cuffs of her sleeves into her palms.

Harry nodded slowly. "Okay."

Was that it? No yelling or threats? He sounded hurt. Her heart ached. Why was every choice the wrong one?

Then he opened the front door, holding it for her and waiting. When she glanced at him, he flashed her a toothy smile. "I meant what I said, lass, I will follow you if you run."

Somehow it didn't sound like a threat but a promise.

She slipped out into the hallway. Gil was pacing and jerked to a stop when they came out. His hair was still long, the rest of him having grown even more, taller and broader. There was so much panic in his eyes when he looked at them. He took a step toward her and then a step back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rush in like that. Are you okay? I didn't mean to knock you down. I—"

"I'm fine," Uma said, trying not to think about the madness of him feeling bad for her falling on her ass when she almost stuck him with a knife.

He exhaled a gust and for a minute they just stood there, staring at one another, neither moving to close the distance. He was older, taller, but he still moved like Gil. He still had all his emotions playing across his face and her heart melted.

"Are you going to gawk at me or get me food?" she demanded, slipping into her old tone.

Gil brightened at that and poked the elevator button.

Harry shook his head at his friend, walking past him and opening the door to the stairwell. "We exercise now," he said, holding the door for Uma.

Gil followed, walking with Harry and watching her move ahead of them. "She's alive," he whispered.

Harry clapped his shoulder.

"What are we buying?" Gil asked absently.

Harry laughed a little. "Everything."


	5. Questions

Between the three of them they managed to carry up all the bags in one trip—without using the elevator. Neither Harry nor Gil had asked why she didn't want to get in the damn thing. Gil even suggested they get someone to fix it—assuming it was broken.

The grocery bags they piled onto the counters in the kitchen, the bags from the clothing stores went into the bedroom, tossed in a heap onto the bed, and everything else was on the dining table. Uma still wasn't clear why they needed half this stuff or why they got it all for free. The boys just kept sneaking off to the counter and handing the person there a plastic card. Was that money here? Most dizzying of all, was just the abundance of everything. EVERYTHING. Stuff she'd never even thought of. Food for days. They just went down aisles picking whatever they wanted and throwing it in the cart.

Gil sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out a box, opening up and programming her phone for her. He was really excited, so she went with it. He took a picture of himself on it and showed her, his number saved. "It's the only one, so you know you're calling me."

"What about my number?" Harry said from the kitchen, shoving food in the cupboards and fridge.

"She lives with you, why does she need your number?" Gil's eyes went wide and he swiveled toward Uma, surprising her. "You could come live with me!"

Harry thunked down the jug of juice on the counter.

"My house is huge!" Gil pressed on. "With a yard! And I have a dog!"

"You also have a husband…" Harry reminded through clenched teeth.

Gil scoffed. "Luca loves everything I love. You could have your own room! Your own wing, if you want!"

Why would she want a wing? Don't wings come in pairs?

"I can get us a different place if we need more space," Harry argued.

Gil had Uma's hand in his, ignoring Harry. "You would love it. It's right on the ocean. We have our own dock."

Uma stared at him, smiling slowly and turning to look at Harry in the kitchen. He was fuming. "Is he serious?"

Harry almost pouted.

Gil nodded. "Of course! You're always welcome to stay with us!"

"No, I mean, you have a castle on the beach?" This was a lot to take in.

Harry threw an egg and it hit Gil square on the shoulder, splattering his shirt and the table. Gil gasped, staring in shock. "This is your house… You'll have to clean it up!" he whined.

"Damn right, it's my house! So I can kick you out if you don't knock it off!"

Gil sulked but stood up, excusing himself in a mumble to go clean up his shirt. As soon as he was down the hallway Uma shot Harry a raised brow, but her smile was still small and in the corner of her mouth. "You didn't have to throw an egg at him," she scolded.

"He was getting on my nerves."

"I'm not leaving you." She said it without thinking.

He stared at her, shocked.

Uma swallowed hard and looked away. "You know…while I'm around. Obviously, I'd be with you." She cringed, she wasn't making this smoother or less commitmenty.

Gil came back, tugging at a sweater he'd switched his egg wet t-shirt for. He must have taken it from Harry's closet.

Harry went back to putting away groceries.

"I have to go," Gil said, sounding pouty.

* * *

Harry glanced up, midway through unloading a whole bag of cakes into the pantry. "You can stay for dinner if you want." He was suddenly peaceable again.

Gil looked pleasantly surprised but shook his head. "I'm supposed to have dinner with Luca's family. They're in town visiting." He worried his lip and looked at Uma where she sat at the table. "But you can call whenever, even if it's the middle of the night and I'll come get you or meet up with you. Anywhere."

Uma flashed him a conspiratorial smile. "Got it. You're my backup."

Gil blushed a little but puffed out his chest, proud.

Harry looked up just as Uma stood and Gil hugged her. He jumped a little, expecting her to react badly, but she didn't. She patted his shoulders and smiled against his cheek. "Go home. I'll be around."

Gil held her longer. "Promise?"

She rubbed his back. "Yeah. Promise. I have a phone now. You can call me."

He nodded, finally letting her go. He waved goodbye to Harry before leaving. The door closed firmly behind him.

Uma drifted into the kitchen. She started helping him put things away but soon gave up, opened the box of cheese snacks and hopping up onto the counter. "Did you really buy all this?" she asked, mouth full.

He smiled, kicking an empty bag on the floor away and shoving the box of taquitos into the freezer. "Yeah. Your books are popular."

She made a funny face. They weren't her books, even if they were kind of about her.

"I usually just order take-out though."

Uma nodded like that meant something to her. "Are you dating Margo?"

Harry straightened, refrigerator door still in hand, and twisted around slowly to look at her. His Captain was sitting on the counter across from him, eating cheese snacks and waiting for an answer like she'd asked if he was hungry. Oh, he remembered this mood of hers—when she wanted information but didn't want to care about it. But it meant she did care. He grinned, closed the fridge, and leaned against the opposite counter. "No."

She hummed, sounding doubtful. "You should tell me if you are, so I don't step on her toes."

His grin grew wolfish and she shoved more cheese snacks in her mouth and pretended not to regret her word choice. "Oh, lass, you can stomp on all the toes you want. No one's ever had claim to me but you."

She stared and then that willful, petulant look gave way to a flash of sadness. She put down the box. "No one? Harry… You thought I was dead. It's been four years."

"And how could anyone compare?" he asked, in all seriousness. "Who do you imagine I'd fall for after you?"

_Fall for. _They never said things like that before. They hadn't used any of the soft words. But he knew now what they had been.

A silence stretched between them. He wasn't going to ask if she'd been with anyone else the past four years. She'd either tell him or she wouldn't. "How'd you survive?" he finally said, offering her a change of topic but the question that haunted him.

Her fingers pressed against the edge of the counter beside her thighs. "I thought I was a goner. I guess throwing a sea-witch into the ocean isn't a good idea." She smiled and tossed him a shrug. "I was under for a long time. At least a month. It churned me back up on the rocks and for weeks after that I didn't know anything. And then when I remembered it was so far over… You were all gone. So, it's not like there was anything left to do."

He stayed on his side of the kitchen, afraid that if he came close she'd stop telling him. She looked sad now but not frightened.

"Pretty much everyone we ran with and knew had either made it off the Isle, or died…or were all the assholes we avoided." She tried to fake a smile.

"Was your ma still alive?"

"Yeah, I think so, but she didn't send anyone to hunt me down and I cleared out of her reach." They hadn't parted on good terms, not even for their standards.

"Is my dad still alive?"

"I don't know," she lied. He could tell it was a lie but he didn't know why she'd bother. Did she think he'd mourn the man? Maybe he did a little, the way any son would, even an evil father.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Where did you go on the island?"

She shrugged. "I moved around a lot. It was a long four years, Harry."

He bit the inside of his lip to keep from asking more. He wanted to know, of course he did, he wasn't used to there being parts of her life he didn't know. She had been his north star. He knew everything about her—before that day. And now he knew almost nothing about the last four years. Had she found a new crew? A part of him hoped she had, hoped there had been someone who saw the bright shining light that she was and guarded her—loved her—the way he had. Of course, another very selfish part of him was terrified that she'd found a replacement for him.

She hopped down and crossed the short distance to him, standing closer than she had before, her hip bumping his. She poked his temple. "Where'd you get this scar?"

He smiled softly. She was so close, jabbing at him and demanding answers like they could just rediscover each other—like they weren't dancing around floor gaps—like she wanted to know him as much as he wanted to know her. "Hospital. Bashed my head against the wall."

"On accident?"

"No."

She ran her finger over the scar, scrutinizing it before taking her hand away but still so close to his side that a sheet of paper would struggle to fit between them. "Why were you in the hospital?"

"The first time? Because I had a sword wound in my chest." He saw the memory in her eyes. Their wound. Their matching scars.

"After that?"

"I bashed my head into the wall," he reminded, but she was still waiting for the answer. "I didn't take your death well, love."

She took a step back and he sighed, feeling like she'd pull away now. He'd said the wrong thing. It was too much. But he couldn't give her anything but the truth—not now. And then she was right in front of him, leaning in, looking right at him. Her fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, the way they had a hundred times in their youth, and pulled until he lowered his head and she stole his mouth in a kiss. It was lazy and deep and she was in charge, his soul soothed.

For one, blaring and perfect second, the world disappeared. Time was gone. Nothing was between them and just like all the times before, she made every pain in his heart disappear. He was finally home. Finally not alone—because in any crowd without her, that's what he was—alone.

His hands slid up her the sides of her thighs, over her hips to her waist, ghosting over the shape of her, curving toward her back.

The sharp press of a knife to his ribs stopped the roaming of his hands. She still kissed him though, a few more seconds before she pulled back. Harry put his hands on the counter on either side of him, happy to surrender to her. She almost looked more surprised about the knife she held to his side than he did. Harry hadn't exactly minded. She wouldn't actually hurt him and it had come with a kiss.

Uma sucked her bottom lip, the way she always did after kissing him, like she was looking for another taste without thinking. She stepped back, folding the knife away and into her palm. "I'm not really that girl anymore, Harry. The one you grew up with. You see that, right?" she whispered. "You wasted four years of your life here looking back at her." Her eyes were on the floor between them and he could see how hard it was for her to say what she was trying to say.

"No one in the world has ever seen me the way you do. No one challenges me or quiets me like you do. I'm unhinged without you," he said just as softly, gaze meeting hers as soon as she looked up at him. "There was a time when you knew everything about me, things no one else has ever known, the absolute worst…" He shook his head slowly. "And you were still by my side. On an island where no one could be soft—you loved me and I loved you." He swallowed hard when a tear slid down her cheek. "There are years between us now, and if you want to pretend they never happened I'll do that for you. If you want to go over every scar, I'll do that too. But I'm not going to leave you, Uma. Whatever happened, whatever damage you're dealing with, you know it's not going to push me away. You have to know that."

She pushed her gaze back to the floor with a cringe, shaking her head tightly like she wanted to argue but couldn't quite get the words together.

He fought the urge to close the space between them. She had to make those choices now. "If you decide you want to leave me," the words were hard to get out but he forced them up, eyes stinging. "I'll set you up with your own place."

They stood there for a long time, so quiet that he could hear both their hearts pounding. And then she pushed off her counter and walked away, disappearing down the hall and into the bedroom. She didn't close the door and he didn't follow. That was her "I'm thinking" face. He groaned when he was alone, dragging a hand through his hair and tugged at the strands.

He didn't want her to leave, but he couldn't keep her here if she really didn't want to be. That didn't mean he'd get her an apartment far away though… Maybe something downstairs? Gods, he hoped she decided to stay. She'd said it just a while ago_ "I'm not leaving you."_ He tried to reply the words in his head and wrap it around himself for comfort._ I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving you._


	6. Therapeutic

Harry stared at the x-rays on the glowing board. He'd dropped Uma off upstairs at her mandatory therapy appointment after her check-up and then come back down to meet with Ben's royal physician. The old woman was permanently frowning, despite being highly paid to do very little. She had, what, twenty patients? She did not seem to be happy about adding Uma to the list, but there wasn't much she could do about it now that Ben had set his mind to making sure they were all in tip-top shape. Harry was vaguely certain Ben had done the same thing when Harry arrived—but he'd already been in the hospital with a sword wound so he hadn't really been able to fight it.

The old woman pointed out old breaks that had healed, some better than others, some breaks on top of breaks. He could almost hear her contemptuous "another villain kid" remark streaming through her head and wondered if she'd had to deal with the whole lot of them when they arrived four years ago.

She'd talked a lot about malnutrition and the start of an infection in Uma's lungs and given him a prescription for some sort of vitamins and antibiotic. He nodded and for once in his life paid attention. This mattered because it was Uma and he KNEW she wasn't going to care about this. Medicine and doctors had seemed like nonsense when he first arrived…sometimes it still did.

She flipped through the folder with lots of papers and notes and a few photos from her first night. "Her bruising is all healing as expected so that should be it." She flipped the folder shut.

Harry flashed her a toothy, charming smile and stood, leaning over the desk to shake her hand. She shook it a little begrudgingly. He waved the prescriptions in the air between them. "I'll just go fill these then. Thanks."

She shooed him away and he ducked out of the room, turning down the hallway with the prescription papers in one hand and the photos from Uma's medical journal in the other. He didn't look at them, shoving them into the inside pocket of his jacket. He didn't need to look at them. These doctors had taken pictures of all of the injured Isle kids when they arrived, putting it in their folders for records of trauma and the abuse they'd seen. Harry stole them all and burned them. They could keep their folders and notes about what they'd seen and treatments given—but he wasn't going to leave pictures like that lying around, not even in their safe little hospital drawers. If they were really so safe, he wouldn't have been able to steel them.

* * *

She smiled that placating, politician smile and Uma rolled her eyes. The woman didn't even get angry. She was infuriating. "You know, I've heard about you from many people," she said. Uma stilled. She'd spent the last hour lying to just about every question this therapist threw at her. It would have been nice if she mentioned having inside information beforehand… "I counselled a lot of people through their grief after your death."

Uma huffed a laugh, arms crossed and sitting deep in that modern couch. "Do you want me to apologize for your time wasted?"

That smile again, soft and patient. "Of course not. To them, you had died. You were loved, Uma."

Uma stiffened.

"You were missed. They wept for you."

She held her arms tighter. No. No, they were hard. They had moved on. She had done the right thing.

"They all said you saved them. They each had different stories about growing up on the Isle but all of them had stories about how you saved them."

She shook her head. "I was just bigger."

"You weren't bigger than all of them, though. And you didn't have to stick your neck out. You didn't have to be the last one off that dock."

Uma felt a lump in her throat, not sure if she was going to vomit or choke. "Of course, I had to be last."

"Why?"

"Because I was the Captain."

"And the Captain goes down with the ship?"

Uma's gaze snapped up to meet this woman's. "You think I wanted to stay behind?" she barked a laugh. "You think I wanted to be there alone? Without him?" She shot to her feet, sick of looking up at this lady. "You have no idea what I wanted for myself. I had dreams too. I did everything I could to get off that Isle."

"I heard the royal guard had to sedate you to bring you off the Isle. I heard you ran from them."

Uma blinked. Yes. That had happened. She sat down, because she felt her legs giving way. "I died," she said quietly, a part of her hoping this woman wouldn't hear her. "I died on that dock. The girl you heard about isn't me anymore."

"It's possible for her to be who you were and still be apart of you. Everyone changes, Uma. You don't have to lose the parts you want to keep."

Uma groaned and rolled her eyes again. "You're the worst!"

The therapist actually laughed, in a soft gentle way. Not taking offense or even blushing. Damn her!

"This is a safe space to talk."

"Right," Uma rolled to word with doubt. "Like you're not going to lock me in a padded room if I say the wrong thing."

The woman looked very serious. "That's not going to happen, Uma."

Uma caught her gaze then, like she'd caught her in a trap, one brow pitching up. "So, you didn't lock Harry up? That wasn't you?" That's right, Uma had learned a few things about this lady before coming in too. She wasn't the only one that could be tricky.

"Normally I wouldn't be able to discuss another patient, but Harry said you might ask and advised that I tell you whatever you wanted to know, so long as it was the truth of course."

Uma wrinkled her nose. "I don't need to hear about Harry from you."

"Are you sure about that? You brought him up."

Uma gaped. "You and the mind games! I brought up you locking him away."

"He needed care and to be watched."

"Sure."

"He was a danger to himself."

She scoffed angrily. Her Harry could be a danger to anyone if he needed to be.

"He tried to kill himself, Uma."

Uma felt cold, eyes fixing on this woman again. She didn't like being told about Harry and she didn't like what she was being told either. He hit his head. He was upset. He got like that.

"It must be a lot of pressure, being with him," the woman said, trying a new angle maybe? "He looks up to you. He adores you. He was in and out of this hospital for more than a year after he thought you died. I've seen him regularly since. It's okay if that pressure is too much for you, Uma. You're not responsible for anyone's mental or physical health but your own."

Uma was on her feet again. Not responsible for Harry? The woman was telling her about him and advising her to, what? Leave him? For her own sanity? That was laughable! The only thing that had kept her anywhere near sane on the Isle these last four years was the idea of him. She'd lived for that idea. "You don't know anything," Uma snapped, finally fed up, and marched toward the door.

The woman stood but made no move to stop her. "Uma, you don't have to talk to me, but you need to talk to someone," she tried, voice forever patient and swollen with understanding.

Uma stopped at the door and looked back. "If I talk to someone else, do I still have to come back next week?"

The woman smiled, her soft smile. "Yes."

Uma groaned loudly, stormed out, and slammed the door behind her.

Harry looked up from the chair in the waiting room, phone in his hands. "Done already?" he rolled to his feet.

She stormed past him. "Take me home," Uma demanded.

* * *

Uma was pissed but Harry was delighted. The whole way back to the apartment he kept thinking about how she'd called it home. Not "his home". Just "home". She hadn't said much since their talk last night. He assumed she was still considering whether or not she wanted to leave him. She'd slept in his bed though and he'd taken the couch. He thought it was a good sign. She was spending more time in there. Maybe she was settling in.

She stomped up the stairs and he followed, trying not to be amused by her wrath. She groaned angrily when she tried to throw open the door but it was locked. He unlocked it and stood back so she could do the opening. She shot him a glare but flung it open just like she'd wanted and stormed into the apartment.

"Your therapist is an idiot!" she finally raged.

He closed the door, throwing the locks into place and then followed her into the living room. "Any particular reason?"

Uma was pacing.

Harry sat down, quite enjoying the comforting display. She had been angry a lot when they were kids. A lot of people were idiots.

She stopped pacing suddenly.

Harry waited. This was when she had a revelation or came up with a scheme.

She turned toward him.

Harry smiled, happy to be involved in whatever plan she had.

But then she turned and marched down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom. He turned his head to follow, straining to look over the back of the couch and down the hall. "Uma!" he complained.

When she came back, she had a bag packed.

Harry's smile vanished and he jumped up from the couch. She tossed the bag toward the door. She was leaving? "Uma…" There were a thousand questions in her name, a thousand pleas.

She shook her head as if to shut him up, tears in her eyes but her jaw set sternly. "I'm going to tell you and we're going to go from there. No more dancing around it. No more bullshit. I owe you that much."

He inched around the couch, closer to her. "You don't owe me anything, Uma. If anything—"

"You've been my dream, Harry. Knowing you were alive here and imagining that I was with you—that kept me going. You were always my dream."

His breath came out of him in a rush. She was saying all the things he'd wanted to hear, but why did she look so guilty? Why did it sound so apologetic? Shakily, she reached back and took out the folded knife from her pocket and held it out to him. He stared at it, confused. Was she giving it back? Was she going to tell him she cared about him and then leave? No. She said they were going to keep going. She had to tell him something. He cringed, shaking his head tightly. He didn't want to take the knife from her. She was disarming herself, like she was getting ready to surrender.

Uma glared and shook it at him, waiting.

With a curse, he snatched it from her and shoved it into his pocket. "Okay. Let's here it, love," he pressed. Get this over with. Tell him whatever dark thing she thought would ruin them so he could tell her it hadn't. She was right, he realized, it was an obstacle they had to get over if they were going to find each other again.

She looked even smaller than usual, standing in front of him. She'd fixed her dark eyes on a spot on his chest, her hands shaking at her sides, but her shoulders pressed back with a pride that no one had ever been able to beat out of her.

"Before I could get out of our old territory, someone grabbed me up," she explained, the words quiet but steady. Harry clenched his jaw but held his breath. He had expected as much. He'd had his share of abuse before she found him when they were kids. He'd run away from his dad, trading one cruelty for another until Uma saw him—saw right through him—and dragged him off the streets and into the fish shop. She'd sheltered him, defended him, and built him up. He would do the same for her.

She swallowed, gaze turning hard and angry at the spot on his chest, not moving up to see his face. "He kept me in a chest on the ship. All fuckin' day, Harry. It was small and tight and so warm. I couldn't breathe. He left me in there for days. I could hear the ocean, but I couldn't reach it—I couldn't breathe, and it was so hot."

Harry was glad she wasn't looking at him then because he felt his expression falter. _No._ The word streamed across his mind. _No. No. No._ He knew that box. He knew that cruelty.

"By the time he opened the box and pulled me out, I was so tired and sick," her voice strained, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I didn't even fight, Harry. I was so tired. I just wanted to breathe. I didn't even scream until he dragged me back to the box in the morning."

Harry's hands were balled into fists, pressing into his thighs. His mind replayed that day on the dock, when his father kicked Uma into the sea, her blood on his sword, and smiled at Harry—like a promise, that even if he got off the Isle, his soul never would.

She had gone quiet and he didn't know if she was trying to get out more words or waiting for some kind of response.

"How long?" he asked automatically, still in shock, thoughts still far away.

"I don't know. A few months maybe."

Harry felt sick. He nodded slowly. "Is that why you tried to run? Because I'm… his son?" He hadn't recognized this new fear until it was coming out of his mouth—hadn't fully realized the possibility. He'd practically caged her in this apartment with him, thinking they were still Harry and Uma just like always. He'd thought her fear of him had been misplaced. But what if it wasn't? What if she was afraid of him specifically because his father had—

"No," she answered quickly, and his thoughts went silent. "You're not him." He hadn't realized he was staring at the floor until he looked at her and found her staring back at him. More tears rolled down her cheeks and she took a deep breath, choking out the confession she thought would end them. "I killed him, Harry."

He stared at her.

"I could say I had to—to escape. But I don't know if it'd be true. I killed him. I wanted to." Her voice cracked and she cringed. "I killed your dad, Harry."

He continued to stare at her, struggling to understand. Of course, she had killed Hook. Of course, she had. Why was she telling him like it mattered? She'd packed a bag and stood near the door, waiting for him to kick her out? Or for him to give her a reason to run? She'd disarmed herself. She stood there like she was waiting to be sentenced for a crime.

He reached for her and she flinched. He curled his arms against his head and turned away. He wanted to scream. _Hook_. His dad.

He'd left her on the Isle alone and it was his monster that caught her. In that damned box and dragged below deck at night. _Hook._

And his Uma, alone. No crew. No friends. No one to save her. No one to save. Left behind and left to the villains. Left to_ his_ villain.

He didn't realize he was screaming until he stopped, fists pressed to his temples and body curled over like he'd been punched in the stomach. And when he could finally breathe again, finally think, he knew it was too late. She was gone. The door left open and her bag vanished.


	7. Runaway

He'd jogged around his block looking for her for almost an hour, not sure where she'd go on her own—not sure if he had any right to chase her. He even checked every floor of his building, thinking maybe she'd just ducked down one of the halls. She didn't know the city. She didn't even have any money. The more he thought about it the more the fear grew real. He reminded himself time and again that she was Uma—the Uma—his Uma—and there was nothing in Auradon she couldn't scare off. But she was also gone, on her own, and he had no idea where.

When he got back to the apartment he went through their things. She'd taken a handful of clothes, one of the books he'd written, and her phone. Her phone! He took out his, about to call her when he realized he didn't have the number. He swore—loudly—and then called Gil.

Gil answered on the second ring but spoke before Harry could say anything, his voice in a rushed whisper. "What did you do?"

Harry stopped moving for the first time since he realized Uma had left. There was the distant sound of music and voices on Gil's end. It sounded like a restaurant. "What?"

"Why does she think she needs to skip town?" Gil demanded.

Harry exhaled in a wave of relief, closing his eyes. "She's with you."

"Why did she say…" Gil's voice got even quieter and Harry could imagine him sitting in a booth trying to get out all his questions before Uma got back from wherever she was—because he was sure she wasn't sitting there overhearing him. "Why did she say if something happens, it's not your fault? What does she think's going to happen? Why aren't you friends anymore?_ What did you do_?"

Harry winced. "Where are you?"

Gil was silent for a long time, the music and chatter of the restaurant on the line between them.

"Gil?"

Gil's voice got sad, confused like his world was being turned sideways. "Are you going to hurt her?"

"No," Harry said before even taking offense to the question. If anyone else had asked, he would have. But Gil was the only other person Harry would trust to protect Uma no matter what—even in a hypothetical involving Harry. Gil had to ask. Gil should ask. "We had a misunderstanding. Tell me where you are, and I'll explain it to her." He sighed, not sure that would be enough. "And I'll bring her things if she doesn't want to come back with me. She has a few prescriptions from the doctor. She can stay with you if she doesn't want to stay with me, right?"

The mention of the prescriptions had sealed the deal. Gil told him which diner they were at without even answering the last question and hung up the phone. Harry didn't need him to answer. Of course, Uma could stay with Gil if she wouldn't come home with Harry. It wasn't a real question. It was a reminder and a promise that Harry wouldn't cause trouble if things turned that way.

* * *

Uma had gone to the bathroom but paused on her way back through the crowded diner toward their booth. Gil was on the phone. She spotted him before he spotted her and she waited, slow steps, giving him a little longer to have that rushed conversation.

She considered slipping out of the restaurant and disappearing. She knew he was talking to Harry. Gil's face had always been so readable. He was open and she could see that mix of distress and worry and anger and love all over him.

Gil met her gaze, said one last thing into the phone and put it away. He was poised at the edge of his seat, ready to get up and follow if she made a run for the door. It occurred to her then that her boys were prone to chasing her. Maybe she should have picked slower friends…

She walked back to the booth and slid in across from him. She stirred her milkshake with the red and white striped straw and then took another drink.

Gil relaxed a little but she could see the guilt in his eyes. At least it wasn't shock and horror—so, Harry hadn't told him what she did.

"How long before he gets here?" she asked.

Gil's big shoulders sagged. "I didn't call him, I swear. He called me."

She shrugged and picked at her fries. She'd known the risk when she called Gil, but she'd wanted to see him again.

"He said you had a misunderstanding," Gil tried.

She smiled a little, sadly. She was pretty sure they understood each other at last. "I killed his dad, Gil," she said quietly. She hadn't really planned to tell him, but just in case things got really ugly when Harry got here—she wanted him to know why, and that she had it coming. They had been friends and though they'd all had terrible parents, they still loved them, in that twisted way kids had to love their parents. And it had always been understood, that your parent was no one else's to kill but yours—if you ever got up the nerve and the strength, that is.

He sat really still and quiet for almost too long, causing her to look up at him. There was the shock and horror she'd been waiting for.

"You probably had to…" Gil started, voice still hushed.

"I wanted to," she corrected. No bullshit here.

Gil was quiet for a long time, so long that she actually started to worry. Would he be angry too? Would he leave? She wouldn't stop him, of course, but it hurt to imagine him looking away from her.

He let out a long sigh and she saw the tears in his eyes. He was staring at the table between them. "I was on the boat when Hook stabbed you on the dock," he said. "I caught Harry when you pushed him. Me and Jay hauled him up, but I saw… You smiled at him, even when you fell to your knees, like you were saying everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't okay, Uma. You were bleeding so much. And when Hook kicked you into the sea, he smiled at Harry like he knew it too—it would never be okay."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Harry's not mad you killed Hook," Gil said, sounding so certain. He used the back of his hand to push tears away before they fell. He reached over and took her milkshake, still looking down and a lot like a kid who'd just had his dreams crushed. "If he's mad, it's either because he didn't do it himself… Or because of why you had to do it."

"I didn't have to," she persisted.

"You were alone," Gil muttered, sipping the milkshake. She couldn't tell if he was sulking or just so grimly sad. "We left you there alone. You think I don't think about things, but I know what that means. I was big and dumb and that was dangerous. You're smart but small and that's dangerous too."

She felt heat rise to her face, staring at him. "You were never dumb," she countered in that practiced way a mother might—having said it a thousand times before—ignoring all the times she'd called him an idiot herself. It was different when she said it. She was the only one that could because she knew she didn't mean it. "You were naïve."

He smiles a little at that and shrugs. "It all looked the same on the Isle." He finished the milkshake and then looked up at her, eyes bright with mischievous curiosity. "Did you kill my dad too?" he half-joked.

Uma laughed. "No. He's still kicking around."

He nodded and gave a little "too bad" shrug. But she knew a part of him would have been sad if his dad were dead—a man that had done nothing but push him around and call him names.

"Do you really want to leave?" Gil asked suddenly.

Uma stared at him.

"If you really want to leave Auradon, I'll set it up for you. If you just want to get away from Harry, you could stay at my place—and if you don't want that, I can find you a place in the city."

Uma hesitated. Gil sounded so sure Harry wasn't upset with her, but she wasn't ready to believe that. You don't just stay friends after something like that. "I don't know." She didn't belong in this place. It was good to see her boys and know they'd made it out in time—they'd become something else out here. They belonged. But she was a villain and she knew it. She should have told him that first night when she woke in the hospital room—should have told Ben, he would have put her on a boat back to the Isle right away.

That uneasy, edgy feeling clawed at her nerves again—the one she'd managed to push aside when she saw Gil. It was that feeling like the whole world was collapsing. She remembered the sound Harry had made, that screaming, angry sound when he curled in on himself.

Uma slid out of the booth, grabbing her bag. "I gotta go. I'll give you a call when I decide what I'm going to do…"

Gil's eyes widened. He got up, hurrying to throw some bills on the table and on her heels when she made her way out of the busy diner. "Wait! I can drive you."

"I don't know where I'm going."

"Then don't go," Gil pressed with his easy smile.

Uma was halfway through the parking lot when a familiar car pulled up, way too fast, parking sloppily. Her heart hammered in her throat.

Harry jumped out of the car and she took a step back, bumping into Gil. With a growl and a sigh she resigned herself to this awkward moment, lowering her bag off her shoulder and tipping her head back. Waiting for him to say whatever he wanted to say or maybe hit her—though she really hoped he wouldn't in front of Gil.

"You left," Harry said, half-hurt and half-shocked, though it had all been terribly belated by the time it took to find her.

Uma just waited, confused. His eyes were pink and swollen. She'd made him cry.

* * *

Harry took a breath and then nodded, exhaling. "I'm sorry I freaked out. It was a lot…" He cringed because it was more than a lot. "But it wasn't because you killed him. I don't give a shit about him. If you'd told me that you killed him for stabbing you on the dock that day, I would have understood. Damn it, if you'd told me you killed him because you wanted his hat, it wouldn't have changed anything between you and me."

He knew this wasn't really the place for this kind of conversation. They were in a parking lot in the middle of the night with Gil watching their whole scene. But she didn't look like she cared about where they were—he remembered the Isle being like that, as long as you weren't in danger who cared where you argued? And Gil needed to stay, because if she wasn't going to come home with him, he hoped she'd go with Gil.

She was still staring at him, unsure. At least she hadn't made a run for it.

"You don't have to come home with me if you don't want to," Harry said, though it hurt to do it and to mean it. She was all he wanted. "After everything that happened… I'd understand if you didn't want to live with me, or be around me." He felt like he was crushing his own heart. He could see her thinking. He knew that look. She was considering her options. Harry looked at the ground between them. "You should go with Gil, Uma. You know you can trust him and you know if you need him to cut ties with me for you, he would do it," he smiled around the words, sad as they were, he'd still give her the best advice he could. Some part of him would always be her first mate. "He won't let anything bad happen to you."

Gil straightened where he stood behind her at those words, face twisted in worry but shoulders pressing back with that weight of pride. There was no one else in the world Harry would trust more with Uma's safety and happiness.

She sighed. That was the sound of her making a decision she wasn't entirely sure of but was ready to move. She turned her back on him and Harry allowed himself to cringe, a ripple of pain across his features before he could smooth it out. He went to the car to grab her bag, ready to pass it off to Gil but was surprised to see Uma hugging their very tall friend. Gil was more than happy to be hugged. She said something to him and all the worry slid out of his features as he nodded. She kissed his cheek and he blushed.

And then Uma patted his arm, picked up her bag, and walked over to Harry's car. Without looking at him, she got into the passenger seat.

Harry gaped at his own car. Gil walked over, pausing beside him. "Next time you screw up and she leaves, you should call me right away," he said. "I mean, I won't help you, but I'll go get her," Gil smirked and then walked off into the parking lot to get his own car.

Harry opened the door and got in, relief almost choking him when he started up the engine.

When they rolled out onto the street, she broke the silence. "Did you mean it?" Her voice was tight and hushed.

He glanced at her, mind racing to remember what the hell he'd said. "That I'm not mad about you killing my dad? Yeah."

She didn't relax, fingers discretely digging into the bag in her lap.

"Uma," he spoke her name, glancing at her sideways as he drove. "Nothing has changed," Harry said into the quiet hum of the car speeding down the midnight roads. He wanted it to be true. He believed it was, because he still felt so bound to her, just like when they were kids. His mind only ever quieted when he was with her.

She glanced back at him and for a split second he held her gaze before she looked away. It was long enough for Harry to get an idea of where her thoughts were. Was this a trap? Was he lying? Taking her someplace away from Gil to get his revenge? She didn't believe any of those thoughts—if she had, she wouldn't have gotten into he car. But he could imagine all of it going through her head, like insidious voices that wouldn't let up. He knew those voices. He had his own. Right now they said he had left her to that terrible fate on the island—a fate that should have been theirs together or not at all. They should always have been together. But he left her there. He could have protected her—or he could have at least suffered with her. Everything had been bearable when they were together, even the worst nightmares.

"Harry," her voice was quiet, cutting through his thoughts as he pulled into the dark parking garage under their building. "I know you would have come back to the Isle if you'd thought I was alive," she whispered it and he almost didn't understand.

He parked the car, turning to look at her. His heart thudded against his chest, both heartbroken and delighted. She still knew him enough to know what haunted him. She looked almost shy, in the passenger seat, hugging the backpack to her chest and trying not to look him in the eye. He stared at her long enough that her lips pressed in an irritated line. "Are we going to sleep in the car?" she snapped, embarrassed of her own emotional offering.

He smiled and got out of the car, grabbing the bag he'd packed for her from the backseat while she climbed out of the car. They took the stairs up. He lost his smile when they passed the first elevator, thinking of the chest his father had kept on deck for punishing people, the one he'd put Uma in. Harry managed to shake it off by the time they reached the top floor, hurrying ahead to unlock and open the door. He narrowed his gaze on her backpack.

"What did you even pack in your bag? Everything you could actually use is in this one," he said, shaking the one he'd brought. He hadn't even thought about it until now, having been in a hurry to get her things and then so relieved she'd come home with him.

Uma shrugged, but her eyes flared with embarrassment for a split-second and he caught it.

Harry dropped the bag he'd carried and snatched the one from her hand before she saw it coming. She tried to get it back but a little too slow, growling lowly instead while he pulled it open. Harry dug his hand in and pulled some of the clothes up and out. Another one of his hoodies, a couple of his tank tops, the t-shirt he'd worn yesterday, and his pajama pants. Somewhere inside it all was a copy of his first book.

Harry looked at her again. Uma had shoved her hands into her pockets, looking around uncomfortably, almost bouncing when she didn't know what to do. She'd taken his clothes. The ones that would smell like him. "You still like me," he whispered, in a mix of shock and boundless hope.

Her eyes widened but she didn't look at him.

"Uma…" he purred her name, feeling like he'd caught her peeping on him in the shower.

She grabbed the bag from him, hugging it and marching down the hall. He followed, grinning. She turned into the bedroom and he jerked to a stop in the doorway, remembering his promise not to go in if she was—but that didn't mean he couldn't stand just outside the open doorway. She hadn't closed it, after all.

She dumped the bag out and tossed things back where they'd been. Finally, she threw the bag down, dropping her head back and groaned like he was annoying her—when in fact, he was saying nothing. "Of course, I like you," she snapped her sweet words angrily.

* * *

Uma turned to stare at him in the doorway. He looked sad even when he was happy. Everything was complicated right now, but none of that changed _them_. And how could he know that? She had to use her words. He had been so direct and open since the start of all of this. He used all the soft words they never had before.

She walked toward the doorway where he stood and Harry took steps back when she reached it. _Words. Use your words. You said all the shitty things, you should be able to explain the rest right?_ She goaded herself.

"You're not your father," she said bluntly. Harry's eyes widened, expression suddenly icy and serious, absorbing what she was saying. "I've never thought you were or would be. Never, Harry. If I…" She wrinkled her nose, trying to pick a word from a selection of ones she hated to use to describe herself. "If I flinch, it's not personal. It's just…" She sighed. Words sucked. "I'm not used to being us, anymore."

Uma looked down, uncomfortable and embarrassed. "But I want to be us again," she whispered that last bit.

Harry moved slowly, holding something out to her.

She blinked down at the pocket knife—the one she'd nicked from him days ago. She looked up at him and he was smiling softly, the sad parts gone from his happy.

Uma took the knife and stuffed it into her pocket before leaning up onto her toes slowly and kissing him. It was a testing kiss, eyes open to see if he'd cringe now that he knew everything. Her Harry sighed happily, shoulders relaxing. She took hold of the front of his jacket, closing her eyes and kissing him deeper before giving him a little shove back.

He was grinning before he even opened his eyes.

She flashed a smile and passed him in the hall. "I'll take the couch tonight. You can have the bed."

Harry snorted. "We're not taking turns. The bed is yours."

"Your couch is softer than anything on the Isle," she reminded and then smirked wickedly. "Plus, I have to worry about your delicate Auradon back sleeping on a couch… Not sure you can take that." She pulled one of his books from the shelf and flopped herself down on the couch, settling in.

Harry grabbed his chest and mocked offense.


	8. Wake Up

Harry twisted in his sleep, dreaming of her. It was all sweet in the beginning. Her smile—the one with a touch of mischief. The way she rolled her shoulder in a shrug. The way she curled her fingers in his shirt and pulled him down to meet her kiss. And then he heard the ocean and her lips tasted like blood. His mind knew what was coming but he couldn't pull himself from the dream, couldn't keep his eyes closed. He felt the blade that cut through her press into his chest.

Usually, in dreams like these, when he pulled back he'd be standing on that dock again, just in time to watch her die. But this time, when he pulled back, he was standing on the deck of the Jolly Roger and looking down at the old treasure chest that had never held anything but nightmares. He heard her rasping breath echo from inside. He fell to his knees and pulled at the heavy iron lock._ No. No. No. _She was gasping for air inside like she was suffocating. The lock wouldn't budge. He didn't have the key.

Steps sounded like thunder across the deck behind him and Harry spun around on his knees, staring up to see his father walking closer and closer, cruelty in his eyes. Harry pressed his back to the chest and shook his head. _No. _He heard the screams in her chest, the ones she swallowed down because pride wouldn't let them loose. She would give them to no one. Hook grinned as though he too heard the whispers of those sounds and hungered to hear them brought to life. _No._

Harry jerked to life in his bed just before Hook reached him and the chest on deck. He blinked against the dark, remembering where he was. Rain pattered against the windows and his room came into focus in shadows.

He sat very still, listening, sure that he'd heard something when he woke.

"No." Her voice was barely a murmur in the living room but he was out of bed and down the hall in a flash. He hadn't closed the door. As long as she kept leaving it open, so would he.

Harry stopped at the foot of the couch, gaze skimming the shadows of the living room and foyer and kitchen. There was no one else there. Logic had told him there wouldn't be, but his upbringing had trained him to always look first.

"No," she practically choked.

His shoulders dropped and his heart clenched.

She was curled up in one corner of the couch, so painfully small, her hands twisted in the front of the hoodie she wore—the one he'd given her the night he brought her home. She convulsed a little in her sleep, and he heard those same choked down screams as he had in his dreams. Had he been hearing her?

"Uma," he called softly, coming closer.

She held her breath to keep from making sounds—to keep from calling out for help that would never come.

Harry knelt beside the couch. "Uma," he said again. "Wake up, lass. Wake up."

She convulsed again, this time because she still wouldn't let herself breathe.

Harry didn't hesitate any longer. He reached out, hand against the side of her cheek. She unraveled at once, one hand releasing her death grip on her hoodie and in a split second pulling the pocket knife and thumbing out the blade. It thrust at him just as her eyes flared open. But he was ready. He knew her. And he knew this. He caught her hand with his free one, the point of the short blade still inches from his chest. "You're having a nightmare, love," he said quietly.

She let out a breath and dropped the knife, eyes clearing in the dark room and recognizing him. He was grateful for that—a part of him still terrified she'd see his father in him. "Shit…" she whispered shakily. He let go of her wrist. She sat up, eyes flaring and gaze running up and down his bare chest. "Did I hurt you?"

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Not even close. Don't worry about it."

She scrubbed a hand over her face and brought her knees up to her chest, evening out her breathing in a few deep gasps.

"Do you want the bedroom? Did you sleep better there?"

She let out a tired whine and shook her head against her knees. "It's the same." Her head popped up suddenly and she looked at him with an idea. She was just tired enough not to shy away from saying it, whispered in the dark of night, "Sit out here with me?"

He smiled outside his own control. She asked like there was a chance he'd say no—like the idea of her wanting him close-by wasn't enough to make his heart soar. He nodded, turning and sitting on the floor with his back to the couch just beside her. "Do you want me to hum too? Like when we were kids?" She'd been beyond exhausted that first time she'd asked him to hum to her at night, something so she'd know he was there.

She let out a little sigh and curled onto her side, scooting over to the edge of the cushion he leaned against. One of her arms curled around the front of his chest, from shoulder to shoulder, her fingers sinking into his hair. Harry closed his eyes and sighed at that familiar touch. He hummed softly, old pirate songs, and she played with his hair until they both fell asleep again. This time without nightmares.

* * *

Harry woke up to the knocking. He blinked, wincing at the bright morning light coming in through the windows._ Living room. _He was in the living room. He smiled, half-asleep, when he remembered why he was in the living room. He turned to look at Uma on the couch behind him, asleep, but one hand still curling fingers against the back of his neck. She moved when he moved, mumbling something that sounded like an impressively vulgar swear and kicking at the cushions when she curled away from the sunlight and into the pillows.

More knocking. He looked up toward the front door and then finally got up, realizing if he didn't answer—whoever it was would wake her up. He hurried around the couch and into the foyer. He expected to see Gil there when he pulled open the door—hopefully with donuts. Instead, he blinked sleepily at Margo.

She grinned, running her eyes over him. Her delight reminded him that he was shirtless. "You know it's almost eleven, right?" She pushed into the apartment with a few manila folders in hand. "You're not answering your phone."

"I've been busy," he said quietly, turning to follow her and shushing her.

Margo blinked at him, confused for a second before glancing down the hallway toward the bedroom. "Someone here?" She hadn't gone into the living room so she hadn't noticed Uma on the other side of the couch.

"Yeah. So, can you go?" Harry asked, rubbing his eyes.

She shook her head and put the folders on the table. "Harry, stop screwing around. You're days behind on your deadline. Have you even finished it yet?"

He would have groaned if he weren't trying not to wake Uma up. He hadn't done any work on the next book in the series. It was almost done anyway. But he hadn't thought of it once since the night Ben called him about finding Uma, and he really didn't care right now. "I have things going on, Margo."

"Harry, sweetie, I get it," she cooed, coming close and touching his arm. She was always so perfectly dressed, hair tidy and lipstick perfect. Harry had liked her in the beginning because it made him feel like the misfit he knew he was. She was all Auradon order and he was Isle chaos. It had been funny to him—his own little joke. But right now, he wasn't interested in the surprise humor of the world—he was interested in getting this woman out of his apartment before the sea goddess on his couch woke up. "You want to go on one of your wild party kicks, that's fine, just finish this book for me first, okay? After that, you can bring home all the playmates you want."

Harry was about to tell her to get out when a surprising note of laughter caught them both by surprise.

Uma sat up, turning to look over the back of the couch at them. Her eyes glinted with wicked cheer and her smile was crooked. "I still don't get this _publicist_ thing… Is she in charge of your books or your dick?"

Harry barked a laugh before he could even think of stopping himself.

Margo blinked at Uma. "Aren't you the girl from the other night?" she sounded shocked, turning to look at Harry again. "Did you take in a homeless person or something?"

Uma nodded, pretending to be worried about Harry's life choices as well. "He kind of did. You should tell him why that's a bad idea. Maybe give him a lecture? It's not like I was sleeping or anything…"

Margo turned on her heel to glare with full force down at the other woman. "You don't live here. I don't know what's going on, but it's time you grab your heels and get back to your home or brothel or—"

Harry had stopped laughing and Margo jumped when she realized how quickly he'd slid between her and the couch. His eyes gleamed wild, and not the usual glassy, tired, heartbroken way she was used to. "Careful, Margo…"

Margo pouted and pressed a hand to his chest, leaning in. "Harry, I don't know what this is about but you really need to get that manuscript turned in. So cut the party short and send her home?" She used all her pleading, sweet, diplomatic tones. Harry hadn't minded letting her steer things before—when he had no where to go and nothing to do with his life. But now, he was abruptly too busy for this.

"Really, Harry," she implored serious now. "What would Uma think?"

Harry wasn't sure if he should cringe or laugh.

Uma stood up, brow pinched. "What the hell did she just say?"

Margo kept her eyes on Harry. She knew, just like everyone, that Harry wrote the books about his childhood sweetheart who never made it off the Isle. She used it sometimes to keep him on track.

"You should really go," Harry said.

Margo's perfectly serene expression fell. He never responded like this when she pulled the _Uma Card_. He usually withdrew, sullen and full of guilt, but got his job done.

"_What would Uma think?_" Uma repeated the words she'd heard, rolling them around like some maddening puzzle.

Margo seethed, turning toward Uma again. "Go home," she ordered, grinding out the words.

Uma hopped over the couch. "I am home!" she shouted, and Margo jumped back. "And I can tell you _what Uma thinks_, next time you want to know," she said, marching forward. Margo's eyes widened, backpedaling on her heels despite being more than a head taller than Uma. "Right now, she thinks you better get out of her house before she breaks your pretty face."

Harry watched her chase Margo right out the door before slamming it and throwing the bolt back into place. He grinned, because above all else that just happened—Uma had called their home hers and thrown someone out of it.

She spun around and looked at him, raising one eyebrow and not knowing where to start.

For a long minute they both stared at one another, wondering where exactly Uma would start.

"Playmates?" she finally said.

Harry winced and wrinkled his nose. "Okay, well, she thinks everyone I have over that isn't her is someone I'm sleeping with…"

"Have you slept with her?"

"No."

Uma eyed him suspiciously. He had said the other day that he hadn't been with anyone since her. She'd assumed he meant emotionally but maybe he meant at all? "Harry… Have you had _playmates_?" she continued to use the term and smirked a little.

He actually took a step back, uncomfortable. "I'm going to start the coffee…" he mumbled, dragging fingers through his hair.

She was on his heels when he retreated into the kitchen, catching his arm and turning him back to her. He looked like a ball of nerves and she was pretty sure he didn't need the caffeine in coffee anyway. "Harry. I'm not going to be angry. We have four years to catch up on, right? So… Catch me up."

He whined childishly and she tried not to smile. "The first couple years I was in and out of hospitals. I never tried dating even after that but went through a _'numbing the pain'_ phase…" he confessed, shrugging. "Mostly alcohol. Some drugs. Parties where it's so loud you can't think. A couple times I let someone take me home—or a few someones. It never really went well though." He was blushing, almost bouncing where he stood, her hand still on his arm to keep him there. She didn't have to hold on hard, she just kept contact and he wouldn't move away from it.

"Why not?" Uma asked. She didn't mind the idea of Harry having been with someone else. Really, she hated the idea of him being a broken-hearted disaster a lot more. And she knew, no matter who he could have been with, they wouldn't have had what she had with him. She was mostly worried about why he looked so uncomfortable.

"Uma…" he pleaded quietly.

She moved closer, looking up at him and catching those pale blue eyes. "No secrets now, pirate," she reminded.

His blush was vivid but he didn't look away. "I wasn't a good partner. I let a few people fuck me, but I didn't do any of the work. I just… I didn't want to be there anyway. It was just something I was letting happen, to try not to think about you or miss you. But it never worked. So, after a couple tries I stopped letting people bring me home."

Uma sighed, thinking about how that woman had used her name to try to guilt him into doing what she wanted. That guilt had run deep. She reached up, stroking some of his messy hair as though she could put it back into place with her fingers alone. He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. "Did you think I'd be angry?" she asked quietly.

He sighed, those eyes opening to peak icy blue at her. "I don't know," he confessed. "It's not something I wanted you to know I guess."

Uma almost laughed. All the things she'd known about him growing up—all the ugly things that had happened—and he was worried about a few dull one-night stands. Auradon had made him soft—and she was endlessly happy that it had, that he had room for so many feelings and expressions now. "Are there things about me you don't want to know?" Uma asked, serious but gentle.

"No," Harry answered immediately. "I want to know everything I missed."

She smiled, both happy and sad because he knew now that many of those things would be nightmarish and he still hadn't hesitated. "Than what makes you think I'd want you to leave things out on your side?"

Harry seemed to consider it for a second before nodding once, conceding. "Full disclosure it is, Captain. If we're starting today, then I should probably turn the coffee on."

Uma ran her thumb along his cheekbone once more before taking her hand back from his face and nodding. "Okay. Who starts?"

* * *

Mirami03! Thanks so much for the feedback. Sorry this one took a while!


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